Victoria Charles and the Pied Piper
by I Am Miriam
Summary: What if there was a higher league? SH/OC Victoria Charles and Sherlock Holmes are two rare phenomenons in the world of crime and murder. When a case brings the two of them together, Sherlock finds himself confused by the way Victoria makes him feel. She seems to be above him in every sense of the word, and soon he finds himself battling all the walls he set up.
1. In Which They Meet

The Pied Piper

Sherlock was stuck.

It was something he would rarely ever admit, but as he laid on his black leather sofa, which had earned an indent due to its thorough use, his mind came up completely blank as he tried to figure out his most recent case.

He opened his eyes, removing his hands from where they rested above his mouth, and glanced at the chair that used to be occupied by John Watson.

He winced.

It was the first show of emotion in a long, long time for Sherlock, but it was rightful. He had never thought about the impact he made on people's lives, how he barged in and changed them, made them into something different. After John, however, he did.

John Watson had thrown himself off of the same hospital Sherlock had 'jumped' from.

He had killed himself because of Sherlock.

A phone rang, snapping him out of his thoughts as he jumped up, hoping to receive new information on his case. He was lost, and after the last victim had been uncovered five days ago, he had retreated into his flat to think. He hadn't even bothered to change his pyjamas.

When his phone screen flickered to life and the message displayed, he grinned, his bad mood suddenly lifted.

**New victim. Come to crime scene, we've got something.**

**Lestrade**

Sherlock raced to get presentable, knowing that his appearance played a great part in the maniulating power play he used regularily.

Once he was clean and in his suit again, he hailed a taxi. The standard black model screeched to a stop in front of him and he slid into the back with a practiced ease. It was like it always was- except that John had been with him.

He subconciously clenched his fists, but righted his posture from such primitive behavious quickly after noticing. He was on a case. The cases were the distractions, they work was important. Nothing else mattered.

When Sherlock arrived to the address Lestrade had sent him, he immediately started taking in his surroundings. An alleyway, dark and deserted, no CCTV to go by. There were no witnesses, there was no one wrapped in bright orange blankets, and the usual team was there.

He narrowed his eyes, spotting something out of place.

Who was she?

There was a woman, probably twenty-eight, standing in the middle of the crime scene, but all workers respected some kind of unseen bubble that stopped anyone from approaching her. She looked concentrated, her stormy eyes flickering as she turned around on the spot, seeimingly taking everything in.

Just like he did.

Her eyes suddenly landed on him, and he found himself bare under her analysing stare. Was that how people usually felt when he deduced them?

Within a few seconds, she had seemingly gotten the information she wanted and started heading towards him, her stride confident as her blood red trench coat billowed behind her. Her eyes weren't focused on him anymore, she was looking at her surroundings again, assessing everything.

He frowned. Who was she? He reluctantly admitted to himself that she had similiarities to him, and it seemed as if she was familiar with crime scenes- her confidence implied that she thought she owned it. It was her field, it had her absolute dedication. She was focused, clearly noticing every single details average humans usually missed.

"Sherlock Holmes." She greeted him coolly, standing before him. He hadn't noticed her, and yet she stood within two feet of him. Why wasn't he focused?

"Yes," He replied, his voice typically baritone, but it held the tiniest of trembles, "Who are you?" He enquired.

"Victoria Charles," She stated, her even voice holding the same accent as his. It wasn't as prominent, however, insinuating that she had travelled a lot, but was definitely from London. "I'm here to help you on the case. Lestrade practically begged me."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at her. She was there to help him? He didn't need help. He may be drawing a blank on the case, but he never, ever needed help. He didn't except it and would certainly never ask for it.

She obviously read his thoughts from his expression, because she said, "He doesn't care for your pride. People are dead and he wants to prevent further attacks."

"Typical." He muttered under his breath.

"It's human instinct, he can't help it," Victoria said. Normally, it would have sounded like defence, but in her cool monotone, it sounded like what it was- a cold, hard fact. "Now, if you'll follow me to the body before those idiots mess it up." She motioned for him to walk with her.

He did so, silently wondering who she was. He had been able to deduce little things- the obvious things- but for some reason, he couldn't dig lower. Not with her.

They were standing over the body soon, and Sherlock decided that it looked just like all of the others. The body of someone who obviously had criminal history, with a dead rat and a note lying next to them, untouched.

Victoria smirked at the sight of the scene, and a man came up to them.

"Stop smiling," He reprimanded lightly, "It's not decent."

Sherlock held back a whimper- he was usually the one getting told off for his morbid excitement.

Her smile just widened. "Decent is boring, Thomas. Why don't you go get yourself some coffee and I'll meet you in an hour?" She suggested.

He sighed, and Sherlock noted the obvious disappointment. Thomas seemingly had a fancy for the woman. "No, no, it's fine. I just came over to say 'hello'. It's been a while since I've seen you. I'll leave you to it." He told her resignedly, trudging off into the darkness of the night.

Victoria watched him leave before focusing her attention back on the body, but Sherlock found himself intruiged.

"I'm assuming you know he fancies you." He stated, starting their conversation.

"Yes," She nodded, crouching down to pick up the note by the dead man, "He's told me countless times, not to mention the dilation of his pupils and the quickened pulse." She commented off-handedly.

"And you're not interested?" He asked curiously.

Her eyes scanned over the note, not seeing anything interesting of helpful. "I don't need a relationship. Granted, the release of hormones is important, but I don't need someone clinging onto me." She told him, and Sherlock found himself even more interested- more so than he was interested in the case.

He was about to ask her another question, feeling the need to unlock the secrets he couldn't deduce, but he was interrupted by Lestrade coming to join them.

"Hello, Victoria," He nodded at her before doing the same to Sherlock, "Sherlock. How are you holding up?" He asked, pity in his eyes.

Sherlock tensed. "I'm fine."

"Are you su-"

The man with greying hair was cut off by Victoria. "I may not be the most sensitive person, but even I've noticed that it hurts him to think about his assistant." She stated in that even, indifferent tone of hers.

"I never told you about John, and they didn't put it in the papers." Lestrade pointed out, confused as to how she knew.

She rolled her eyes. "You've known me for a while now. You know exactly how I know."

"Right," He said apologetically, "Sorry."

Sherlock looked between the two, frowning before he thought back to Lestrade's text. "You said you had something." He stated coolly, proud that it came out similar to Victoria's tone.

"You're looking at her." The man told him, gesturing at the brunette woman.

"I don't understand," Sherlock admitted, "How is she supposed to help?"

"She's been working on this case too, Sherlock. I was just trying to keep you apart in case you started fighting." Lestrade explained.

"Fight over what? Who's the better detective? Who's more intelligent?" She scoffed, "Right now, I'm on a case. And you know exactly where my priorities lie, and his are seemingly similar."

Lestrade cringed. "I know, I know- only the case is important, nothing is matters except the case. Have you ever considered that you're addicted to the work?" He asked.

Her mask suddenly fell, and her already stormy eyes held a silent fury. "Yes, I'm addicted to the work. The work is all that matters, there's nothing _but _the work." She spat before turning her back to the men.

Sherlock could see her muscles contract and her body rise as she took a breath to calm herself. When she faced them again, her eyes were once again clear and her demeanor collected- nothing showed that her facade had slipped.

"There's nothing different about the body, Lestrade. Just another man who's wronged, a rat and a note explaining what he did." She listed, quickly moving on from her mistake.

Lestrade looked slightly baffled and thought he was hiding it well, but he was under to eyes of two world-class detectives- of course they could tell. "I know, I know. I didn't say it was anything about the body, did I?" He pointed out, proud that he had beaten her.

Victoria and Sherlock both narrowed their eyes at him, quickly coming to a conclusion when they glanced at each other. "Oh," The former uttered, "You mean us."

"Yes, I thought two heads might be better than one at a time, after all." The older man confessed, smiling sheepishly.

Sherlock kept his eyes narrowed at him. "Why would two of us be better? We both have the evidence and the same information to fall back on." He stated.

"Well," Lestrade said, "I don't really know. What do you do when you meet someone as clever as you?"

"I don't." He said briskly.

"Don't you ever-"

Lestrade was cut off for the second time that night, again by Victoria. "Your trivial conversation is charming and all, but I'm on a case. I don't have the time or patience for this, and you need me." She urged them before stalking over to a police car and stealing a laptop out of it.

The two men followed her silently, and Sherlock internally cursed himself. Trivial? Charming? That was new. When did he become a typical police officer that didn't know any better?

Or maybe she just played in a higher league.

When they were within five feet of the brunette, she glanced up. "Who's is this? It's a standard issue, new. I can't place a character."

Lestrade's brows furrowed. "I think that's... Amy's." He disclosed.

"Yes, I know. There's a name," She gestured to the name on the back of the metal casing, rolling her eyes, "Who _is_ she?

He pointed at a perky blonde wearing heels that were much too high for a crime scene, and both detectives scanned- deducted- her.

"Jerenina0512." Sherlock finally let out.

Lestrade looked at him confusedly. "What?"

"Her password," Victoria informed him absently and gave the black-haired man before her a nod, "Is she a good kisser?"

"_What?_"He repeated, that time spluttering.

Twinkling grey eyes fixed on his. "You kissed her. After all those times your wife betrayed you, you kissed another woman." She drawled, openly showing her amusement.

He turned completely red, and pointed at the laptop to distract them. "What are you doing?" He asked, noticing that Victoria had been typing the entire time.

"He wants recognition." She stated, looking at Sherlock and ignoring Lestrade. He was right- two heads were better than one, but that also meant that someone as small-minded as him wasn't needed anymore.

The man with ice-blue eyes nodded. "Yes, of course. He leaves_ notes_, telling us who the victim is, what he's done and how he killed them." He pointed out, agreeing.

"What are we going to do, then?" Lestrade asked.

He was ignored. "The rat. He's telling us that they're vermin, he's giving us the reason for their deaths... He must think he's doing good." Victoria mused, her brain in full gear.

"So he's trying to impress someone, too." Sherlock figured out.

"Obviously a woman. Strong beliefs, probably Christian," She added, "So he wants to be caught."

"Not just recognition, a great big article in the newspapers, telling the woman what he's done." He finished off her line of thought.

Victoria smile suddenly. It seemed morbid at a crime scene for most, but Sherlock found that he liked her smile. It was a closed-mouth smile, like it was the biggest smile she could ever muster, and her full lips spread, causing her dimples to show slightly. He decided that he wanted those little indents in her cheeks to show fully one day, when she was smiling at _him_. God, he was turning domestic.

"Exactly." She said, her voice lit with excitement. She looked at the man before her- high cheekbones, icy eyes, curly mop of hair and a _great _coat- and realised she wasn't alone. There was someone else like her, someone who understood the _work_. He knew her mindset, her priorities and her ambitions.

Lestrade looked between the two, thinking that the out-of-the-blue happiness on their faces was due to the case. "You've solved the case, then?" He guessed.

"What?" Sherlock's eyes shifted to him, frowning again, "No, of course not. Don't be stupid."

Victoria let a smirk grace her lips in agreement. "The murderer is going to solve the case himself." She announced.

"You're kidding, aren't you?" Lestrade pleaded.

"No, it's logical." Sherlock defended.

"The murderer wants recognition- what if he doesn't get it? He'll get sloppier on purpose, wanting to be found. Eventually, he'll fall right into our arms and solve his own case." Victoria exlained easily.

"We're just going to _wait_?" The detective inspector repeated, bewildered.

"Yes, that's exactly what we're going to do," She said, looking down at her watch, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a client I should be seeing."

With that, she was down the street, heading away from the alleyway crime scene and hailing a taxi.

The last Sherlock saw of her for a while was her billowing red trench coat, getting dampened by the beginning of heavy downpour. While the rain was impractical for the investigators at the crime scene who were foolish enough to believe they would find fingerprints, it was a relief for Sherlock.

The domestic feelings he had started harbouring for the woman he had known for barely any time at all were washed away.

The memory, however, remained.


	2. In Which They Meet Again

The Pied Pieper 2

As expected, it was weeks until Sherlock saw the mysterious brunette woman that was so similiar to him again. He busied himself with other cases- murders, suicides and a robbery here and there- but his thoughts always ended up drifting towards Victoria Charles.

He wasn't focused, not at all. His work was slacking, and he spent more and more time sitting around in his empty flat, clear of John's chatter and scoldling, just staring into space and remembering the moments he had known her.

There was something about her, something that confused him and aggravated him to no end.

He made her feel human.

John had always joked that Sherlock wasn't human, that he was the farthest thing from it, but Victoria had changed all that. She had made him question who it was, who John and the loss of him had caused him to be, and he found himself in front of puzzle he couldn't solve.

As soon as he left the crime scene- the case was still unsolved- he had gone 'home' and searched for Victoria Charles everywhere. She existed, but only vaguely. There was a simple website, stating a phone number and address he had memorised instantly, but nothing more. Even after hacking into medical and government information, he couldn't find anything more than her name and a few insignificant details that were no use to him.

He glanced at the piece of paper hanging above his fireplace where case information usually hung. Her name, address, phone number and a rare picture he had found of her. Nothing more. To his knowledge, that was all there was to the brunette woman in the red coat.

He had contemplated calling her, of course- even briefly thought of visiting- but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He felt like a lovestruck teenager hiding in the bushes and watching from afar.

It was horrible.

When his phone lit up, however, signalling a received message, he jumped up.

**Please go and check on Victoria, will you? **

**Lestrade**

He frowned. Since when was he the woman's babysitter?

Still, glad for the alibi, he threw on his coat- the 'great' coat, as John used to call it, Sherlock remembered painfully- and hailed a taxi, which stopped in front of him instantly. His former companion had always been amazed by that ability, but Sherlock knew it was just the simple laws of posture and appearance.

He sat in the back of the taxi with an anxiety he had rarely ever felt before, and mentally scolded himself for letting such a feeling rule over him. He turned to look out of the window, instead, silently deducing the people that passed and wishing he had someone to share his observations with.

The black car wove in and out of traffic at a gruelling speed, seemingly getting slower the further they reached the heart of the city. She lived even more central that he did, Sherlock noted absently and wondered why he hadn't noted that as soon as he had read the address.

Focus, Sherlock.

Finally, the taxi came to a halt in front of a tyical London townhouse, looking no different to all the others neatly rowed with it. He found that strange, expecting at least something to vary- maybe the lack of a house mat? He didn't peg her as someone who took great interest in interior design, but- then again- he had a hard time deducing anything about her at all.

He strode up the steps of the quaint building with a confidence he knew usually attracted attention, but it almost looked out of place on the street. Sherlock wondered if Victoria knew her neighbours, or if she kept them up at night with gunshots out of boredom like he did.

He rang the doorbell, making sure to use full pressure but to elongate the ringing- it portrayed importance and confidence. It took barely a few seconds for the white door to open, but Victoria didn't look as expected.

She was in a black satin bathrobe, and way the the material fell, Sherlock could tell she was was wearing little- if not nothing- under it. He drank in her appearance quickly, trying to make a deduction, but she started speaking, and he fixed his gaze on hers.

"Lestrade sent you." She stated, and definitely wasn't a question like most people would ut it.

He simply nodded, and Victoria sighed, muttering something about 'ignorant, idiotic, overbearing police officers' as she turned behind her. A man stood there, and Sherlock's senses went into temporary overload as he deducted him. He was tugging a shirt over his bare chest, his belt was hastily done up- it wasn't in its usual hole- and his hair was clearly just-out-of-bed.

She had slept with him.

For some reason, Sherlock found himself unhappy at the prospect, but it wasn't out of jealousy like one would expect. He was... disappointed?

She seemed so above him, one step ahead and better in their game- though he noted this with definite reluctance- that something as primitive as sleeping with someone didn't fit into his imaginary profile of her.

When she ordered the man to leave in an even mono-tone, Sherlock found himself smirking slightly, no matter how little jealousy he felt. The man looked a confused- dazed, even- but left wordlessly, nearly tripping over the house mat as he did.

When he was down the road, Victoria turned to Sherlock.

"As I was saying," She started nonchalantly, "Lestrade sent you."

Again, the black-haired man nodded. "Yes, he asked me to check on you. If you would care to enlighten me as to why..." He trailed, silently demanding an answer.

Victoria smirked. "I've been out of the country- working on some cases in the States- and he's been foolishly trying to reach me." She informed him.

"You work internationally?" Sherlock questioned.

"Yes, I'm very in demand," She remarked dryly, "It's rather amusing."

"Why's Lestrade concerned over you?" He found himself asking.

She scoffed. "Because of the case. More criminals have been killed, one more dangerous than the other, and Lestrade is tired of waiting and finding bodies."

"He doesn't seem to be getting any sloppier in his killings, just more daring." He pointed out.

"Then we'll eventually find him at a crime scene, and the case will be solved either way." She retorted easily, not at all bothered by the deaths the murderer was causing. Sherlock smiled at that- she must have been at least the slightest bit sociopathic. It explained why she hadn't invited him in for tea like any other person in England would have.

Victoria saw him eyeing the inside of her house and smile slightly, catching on to his line of thought. "Would you like to come on for tea, Sherlock?" She asked, teasing him.

He looked back to her, startled at the question that correlated to his thoughts, but nodded.

"Well," She said, turning into her house once again, fully aware that she was still only in her bathrobe, "You don't really want the tea, so I might as well not bother. I suggest the desk in my study and my living room table if you're looking for information on my recent cases during your snooping, by the way."

Sherlock's jaw hung slightly agape as he watched her walk into a room- probably her bedroom- leaving him standing in her hallway.

She had deduced knew she had done so already, but hearing the results was new. Being deduced in general was new- even Moriarty hadn't done so openly. He was always the one deducing, telling people their only life stories or trains of thoughts... As he had thought before, she made him him feel human. Plain, simple and human.

Sherlock had his fun snooping, as Victoria had predicted. He found a lot on her most recent cases, especially the ones in America. He rifled through the documents, eagerly looking for more personal information but still came up with very little. He did find out that she had a partner, and he guessed that that was the man who she had sent away from the crime scene weeks ago.

When Victoria stepped back into her living room, fully dressed with damp hair, Sherlock quickly dropped the papers and spun around to face her, even though she _knew _he had been looking around. Since he was no longer occupied with the documents, he examined his surroundings. The living room was minimalistic, like he had expected, but it had a certain appeal to it, despite the professional edge.

Sherlock glanced at the guns lying on her sofa and smirked. Maybe it was just him.

"Find anything?" Victoria asked nonchalantly, moving around the room and scanning various papers, apparently looking for something.

"Yes," He replied, working to keep his voice even, "I read that you had a partner. Was that the man you let out earlier?"

He was aware that it wasn't, of course. He was absolutely certain that her partner was the man from the crime scene, but he was curious as to who the man she had spent the night with was, and couldn't find it in him to be completely tactless like he would have been before John.

The brunette smirked, looking up at him before dropping the papers and grabbing her red coat. She pulled it on and walked out of the room, wordlessly beckoning Sherlock to walk with her.

He contemplated for barely a few seconds befor he followed after her- the woman was too intruiging.

They walked to the mouth of the street, coming to crossroads before she spoke.

"Hyper-sensitity is a thing we share," She remarked, "It doesn't do you well to pretend to be lesser than you are."

So she had seen through him. "Well, going undercover every now and then isn't a bad thing, is it?" He countered.

"Do you feel the need to have to go undercover to get information out of me?" She questioned, raising an eyebrow, "I read that you see yourself as a high-functioning sociopath. It seems that statement is quite right anymore, is it?"

Sherlock frowned. "Sometimes the job requires indiscretion." He justified, "Besides, my old... assistant had a thing about me being insensitive."

"John, yes?" She asked, aware that he flinched at hearing the name, "The one that jumped?"

His already stiff posture tensed considerably as they came to a stop at a pedestrian crossing. "Yes, that one." He said quietly.

"People die, Sherlock," Victoria said, crossing the road with the crowd that had rathered, "But we all keep moving. John changed you, clearly, but he's not here anymore. He's not here to scold you for asking a direct question and persuing your personality any longer."

Anyone else might have taken those words as incredibly insulting and hurtful, but between the two detectives- both high-functioning, with minds that worked on a level that others couldn't even begin to comprehend- they were comfort. She was telling him that it was okay to move on.

And Sherlock did. "So, who was the man you were with? Clearly not anyone of your affections." He deduced.

A smile tugged at Victoria's lips, knowing that he had taken her cryptic advice. "His name is Harry. He apparently works for a law firm, but he's really a journalist who wanted to look around my house to write an article on me." She explained easily.

"But you-"

"Slept with him, yes," She finished his sentence, "I also stripped him of the pictures he's been taking of the _both_ of us over to past week and made sure he'll be fired by tomorrow morning."

He couldn't stop himself from smirking. "What'd you do?" He asked curiously.

"Someone stole the earrings his editor was going to give his wife as an apology for cheating." She replied lightly.

"Nice," He complimented, "But why sleep with him?"

"Hormones." She stated simply.

He looked at her in shock. "_Hormones_?" He echoed.

"Yes, the sex produces hormones that help concentration and awareness," She explained, not awkward at all, "How do you think I'm the best?" She asked with a smirk.

Despite what people thought, Sherlock had been down that road, and while it had helped his concentration, the women's calls while he was on cases were incredibly distracting, and ended up being counter-productive. He supposed that Victoria had the easier gender to work with.

He remembered something John had once told him. "Can't you just inject the hormones?" He suggested.

Victoria looked at him, motioning to her arm. "Can't you?" She countered, and it dawned on Sherlock.

She was a lot more like him than he thought. She had gone through a drug addiction, too. It explained her outburst at the crime scene- she really was addicted to her work, it was a distraction from the drugs.

Just like it was for him.

"Oh," Was all he could utter befor he looked at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, "What are we doing here?"

"I was out of the country- I want to take a look at the victims of the past few weeks. You're good company."

They walked into the sterile building side by side, and Sherlock found himself smiling at the compliment not even John had given him before.


	3. In Which Things Change

The Pied Piper 3

After inspecting the three new victims with no new outcome, Victoria and Sherlock left the morgue. Throughout the former's inspections and deductions, the blue-eyed consulting detective had thoroughly interrogated her. Victoria had answered his questions patiently if not a little boredly, and when the walked into the darkness of the approaching night, Sherlock was satisfied.

Cars zoomed past the two as they walked through the streets, lightly discussing deductions and past cases, enjoying the company of someone with the same intelligence.

When they came to a stop in front of Victoria's house, standing on the doormat Sherlock found so amusing, he glanced at her. She was unlocking her door, but turned to him while her simple key turned in the lock.

"Do you want to come in?" She asked, but they both knew it was just a formality. He briefly wondered if knowing her would always be like that- a silent understanding that passed through the two.

He followed her through the hallway and into her living room, where she carelessly threw her coat onto the sofa. He watched her sit down next to it and pick up a few documents, on which she scribbled various notes. He watched her delicate brows furrow on concentration and noticed how her tongue rested between her teeth- another sign of her focus on the paper.

"Are those the case documents?" He asked.

She looked up at him, noting how he stood in the center of the room, his posture perfectly still. "Yes." She replied vaguely.

"I already told you," He pointed out, "There's nothing new. There's always the note, the rat and the body. Like you said- we'll just have to wait."

She sighed, leaning back. "Yes, but that's not my problem."

"Explain." He ordered coolly.

"Look at this, Sherlock," She said exasperatedly, "There's _nothing_. There's no sign that the bodies were dragged or carried, but the victims were unconcious for hours before they were killed in those alleyways. How did they _get _there?"

He frowned, realising that he had been too out of it to notice that. Looking over the images Victoria had strewn over the table, he saw that she was right. It was like the victims had walked with their captor, but that wasn't possible. He himself had done the autopsies, and the brains had been clearly unreceptive, not to mention that there were no signs of why they were unconcious, anyway.

"Have you told Lestrade?" He asked finally, not coming to a decent conclusion.

She nodded and swung her legs up onto the sofa, closing her eyes. He analysed the position before realising that it wasn't needed- he was in the same position nearly daily. "Yes, he knows. Scotland Yard is typically too incompetent to solve a crime." The brunette remarked distastefully.

"Nothing new there, then." He commented, just as his phone buzzed in his coat pocket. Victoria seemed to have received a message too, since she took hers from her discarded coat, which she put on again after reading the text.

**New victim. It's different, come quickly.**

**Lestrade**

The two, easily in sync, were out of the door and in taxi within minutes. Both were lost in thought, trying to deduce what Lestrade's vague message was about from his wording, but they were in the darkened alleyway next to a nightclub sooner.

Sherlock paid the taxi driver, acting like a right gentleman, Victoria noticed with slight amusement. It disappeared, however, when she saw Lestrade looking down at a corpse with his 'pity face'- the one he made when he thought someone had been done wrong, hadn't deserved to die.

With a glance at the body, she and Sherlock knew why. A young boy was strewn on the dirty concrete, close to a pile of vomit from some visitor to the shady nightclub. He looked as if he had just fallen asleep there- his twelve-year-old, pudgy face the picture of perfect serenity- but his upper chest was drenched in crimson liquid that had protruded from a familiar wound. A single bullet shot with perfect precision into the boy's heart, just like all of the other victims.

Next to the body, lay recognisable stationery which most likely held the boy's name and the reason he had to die, but the rat was missing. At every scene, there had always been a dead rat next to the body, except for at that one.

Lestrade watched at both of their morbidly excited expressions turned into frowns simultaneously. "What?" He asked nervously, "What is it?"

They both ignored him, Sherlock picking up the note with the latex gloves they had both put on and Victoria moving towards him to read the note also.

**This is little Trevor Gravings. Such a sweet child, hasn't done any wrong in his life. **

**Too bad he had to die.**

**It's your fault- you haven't found me yet. The legendary Sherlock Holmes and Victoria Charles aren't good enough to find me. I thought you were going to be a challenge, but you're just as thick as all the others are, too.**

They stared at the note silently for a second, processing all of the information they had been given and trying to deduce something from it.

In the blink of an eye, however, they had moved on.

"He thinks we're stupid." Sherlock stated, the twitch in his left eyebrow being the only thing that gave a way his annoyance.

"He's trying to provoke a reaction out of us." Victoria countered just as calmly, but her cool tone held a soothing for his hurt ego. He glanced at her, wondering why she cared to calm him down, but she just continued speaking, not giving anything away, "He's doing as we predicted. He wants recognition and is desperately trying to get it. If we play our cards right, we'll have _him _coming to _us_ in a few weeks."

Sherlock nodded, turning to Lestrade. "Have a press conference, tell them that you found the murderer." He ordered.

"That should be enough reason for him to strike again." Victoria added, agreeing with him.

"No, hold on," Lestrade interrupted, "You still just want to wait? An innocent had been murdered! We've been letting you have your way because the victims were rapists, hheavy criminals- or murderers, too- but Trevor was innocent. He's going to keep attacking _children_, and I'm not having it."

Both detectives looked up at him, stunned. "You won't have it?" Victoria repeated, stepping towards the man. Sherlock looked between them, and noticed the slight fear in Lestrade's expression before deciding that she could handle the situation perfectly well.

"No." He said firmly, but both of them could see through him easily.

Victoria suddenly produced a smile that was so dark it scared even Sherlock. "That's funny," She remarked tauntingly, "I seem to remember who solves all of the cases around her. I wonder what would happen if the only two competent people here were to... say, quit?"

The older man swallowed hard, knowing that she was serious about her threat. Throughout the time he had known her, he had learnt that Victoria Charles was not a force to be reckoned with, especially if she didn't get her way. "We'd solve it eventually." He said, but even his own belief wavered.

A laugh escaped her. "Do you really think so? What are you going to do- go national? Tell everyone that the murderer has been killing rapists? You people are _idiots_! You can barely solve a simple theft- how do you think you're going to catch this person?"

"Scotland Yard was doing just fine before you showed up, Victoria, and we'll be fine if you two were to leave, too." He retorted, letting his anger at her insults show.

"I thought you want to stop innocents from dying?" She countered, "How many people do you think would die before you caught the murderer yourselves?"

He frowned. "We're not stupid, you know-"

"Yes, you are, actually." She interrupted.

"Well, I'm sorry we don't all have an IQ over two hundred!" He yelled suddenly, "We do our job, just like you do, but we do it differently. Alright? Call if a difference in methods, but we have this thing called compassion. I'm not saying that how you're doing it is wrong, because you do solve most of our cases, but maybe you should think about others every once in a while. People are _dying_, Victoria."

The woman was silenced momentarily, staring at Lestrade with seemingly millions of thoughts running through her head. Finally, she gave him a single nod. "Perhaps you're right." She said curtly before turning and walking away from the crime scene, beckoning Sherlock to follow.


	4. In Which They Understand

**AN: Hello my dear, dear readers. It's been a while, and I apologise, but I finally have a new chapter. I stopped writing for a bit because I wasn't quite sure what to do with the plot, and I'm not fully happy with it, but I did try. This is probably the darkest stuff I have ever written and I don't know how I feel about the last scene. Please give me feedback. **  
**This chapter is the second-to-last for this case, and then I'm thinking about sending Victoria to a specific team of the FBI... how do you feel about that?**

**This is also dedicated to the author of The Man with No Heart, agirlwithkaleidoscopeyes, because she left me a review and seeing it got me back to writing. I'm very very grateful for that.**

The Pied Pieper 4

"So we're solving the case, then?" Sherlock asked, but it wasn't really a question.

Victoria sat down on her sofa- they had relocated back to her house since it was closer to the crime scene and morgue- and nodded. "Yes." She replied simply.

"What changed your mind?" He questioned curiously. He had tried to deduce her reasoning for actually solving the crime, but with the little he knew about her, he wasn't about to write it off as an act of human compassion.

"I'm bored," She told him, lying through her teeth, "And I could finally get my mind to rest about how the victims died."

He was silent for a moment, weighing out her expression before seeing through her. Still, he let it go- he was still under John's influence. "Any ideas?" He enquired coolly, swearing that there was a slight flash of gratitude in her eyes before she spoke.

"Sedation before the point of sleep?" She offered.

Sherlock, knowing that she only wanted a second opinion because they both knew that wasn't it, shook his head from his seat on the chair that matched the charcoal grey sofa. "There were no puncture wounds or remains in the blood in any of the victims."

"They were threatened?"

Again, Sherlock shook his head. "No fear-induced hormones in the blood flow, either." He deflected the idea.

She laid back in the sofa, closing her eyes as she sifted through various ideas, going through every possible scenario.

Sherlock watched her, seeing how similar her state was to the one that had annoyed John to no end. Through that experience, he knew that talking to her then would be no use, so he stared at her intently, trying to deduce something other than the stuff he already knew about her.

It wasn't long before his mind drifted towards their earlier conversation. She had done drugs?

He wondered what it was that she had done. It was most likely heroin or cocaine, but knowing which one would tell him a lot about her.

Heroin meant she wanted to switch her brain off, that she wanted to run away from the never-ending puzzles her mind created and solved for her. He knew it was a constant battle, living like they did, never having a moment of _peace_. The drug would have slowed down her brain- made her almost normal.

Cocaine, on the other hand, was the opposite. It meant she relished in the powers of her brain, that she loved the power she held. It would have given her feelings of supremacy, a sense of alertness- it was perfect for both of them.

"Which one did you choose?" Victoria asked suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts. Her eyes were still closed, and he wondered exactly _how_ alike they had to be in order for her to read him like that.

"Heroin." He said shortly, pushing away memories of the messy withdrawal and the year afterwards, "You?"

A smile that seemed incredibly out of place, even for the two sociopaths, appeared on her face, her stormy eyes still hidden behind her lids. "Everyone thinks I chose the cocaine." She mused, ignoring the question.

"Did you?" He pressed, his curiousity driving him to his usual rudeness.

"No." She replied simply, and he could tell by the way her smile fell that she had sunken back into her mind.

Sherlock waited for a good ten minutes before she had an idea.

"Oh." She breathed, her eyes snapping open and revealing a familiar glint, "Of course."

"Care to explain?" He pushed.

"They were criminals of first class, having been successfully undercover for years before their murders," She stated before elaborating, "Even the government wouldn't be stupid enough to miss Joseph LaTerze, he was living in the middle of the city, _working_. So what if they were trying out a new little tricks of theirs?"

Sherlock stared at her as she spoke, his mind trying to catch up with her thoughts.

Victoria saw this and, even though she was certain he would figure it out, sped up the process. "Hypnosis." She uttered, and his face lit up as he caught on, instantly starting to place puzzle pieces into the right order.

The detectives had both gotten to work on finding the murderer. Sherlock had informed Lestrade of their progress, not because he felt it was neccesary but because it was John's job to bicker about it with him. And John wasn't there.

Victoria was, however, and she had simply looked at him with a raised eyebrow when he had returned from his phone call, making the normally cool consulting detective fumble with his phone before turning away, flustered. He had changed since his former best friend, his army doctor, had moved in with him.

"So," Victoria started, "I hacked into the government mainframe while you were having a chat with Lestrade. Wasn't very difficult, as usual- rather disappointing. But there it is." She pointed at the screen of her sleek laptop.

Sherlock sat down next to her, thankful for the change of subject, reading the protocols quickly, his mind reeling.

_...a strong hypnosis..._

_...studies show it is possibly to change..._

_...this manipulation of the minds could alter the future..._

_...criminals agree in return for their freedom, should the hypnosis have the desired effects..._

He looked back to Victoria, his blue eyes wide and his mouth in a grin. They'd figured it out.

She smiled back uncharacteristically. "And that's not all," She switched tabs, showing an address, "Ready to confront Miss Kim Lawrence?"

"Of course." He answered simply, and the two smiled at each other a moment longer before Victoria threw a gun from her sofa at him.

"You should be armed. She's planned this, she'll be waiting for you. She's probably fantasised about this meeting many times." She explained, even though their thoughts were synchronised and Sherlock had figured that out himself, too.

"She's been waiting for you, too." He pointed out.

Victoria grinned. "I'm always armed, Mr Holmes." She assured coyly, passing him as she grabbed her trench coat.

"I'm sure you are, _Miss Charles_." He replied, surprising himself with how forward he sounded. He was so _human_, after all. Boring.

She didn't comment on the show of humanity- of emotion- though, simply raised an eyebrow and walked out of the front door, leaving Sherlock to follow.

They got a taxi to stop for them easily, Sherlock unwillingly remembering that John always had at least three pass him before one took notice of the army doctor. He knew Victoria was reading him, her analytical stare was boring into the side of his face- it was just enough to push him back into his methodical thinking and away from the brink he found himself balancing on so often.

"You should inform Lestrade," She said begrudgingly, "If the arrest isn't fully legal, the lawyers will make a fuss and prolong the process unneccesarily."

Sherlock hummed in agreement- and in unspoken thanks that were obvious to both self-proclaimed sociopaths behind their nonchalant facade- before pulling out his sleek phone and typing a quick message.

There wasn't any time to further discuss their plans, before either of them could speak up, the taxi had stopped on a busy highstreet in front of a discreet-looking solicitor's office. The detectives didn't need to so much as look at each other to settle their strides into sync and burst into the hiding-hole of their murderer with what John had described as intimidating arrogance.

The desks were unmanned and piled high with fake files, but both ignored them and headed straight for the back door, rolling their eyes at the unoriginality. The door wasn't closed- Kim Lawrence wanted to be found- and both walked into her 'lair', eager to find out what she had planned.

The room was dark, but Victoria could tell that it was mostly empty. When her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, she noticed the outlines of two things- Kim Lawrence, and a figure on a chair, struggling. Sherlock went back to the door, flipping a switch and revealing the figure. with bruises

He recognised the man bleeding from his nose, embossed with bruises around his eyes and scars on his bared upper body, tied to a metal chair.

Thomas, Victoria's accomplice, assistant, blogger, _friend_.

He looked over to her, the garish light illuminating her features. What was indifferent before had become stone, but Sherlock thought he could see the fire burning in the back of her eyes, just waiting to _ruin_ the woman for touching her friend. He wasn't sure though, because she was Victoria Charles, playing in a higher league than himself and his perception was wrecked by the loss of John. Sherlock would want to ruin Kim, but Victoria was a mystery to him.

The genius was indeed wrong for once, he watched her eyes glide over Thomas, seemingly uncaring before fixing on the obese woman, her body loosening up.

"Kim Lawrence, I assume?" Her voice was casual, completely indifferent.

"_Victoria Charles, I assume?_" Kim mimicked, smiling. Her eyes wandered to the man next to her, "And the legendary Sherlock Holmes. I read about you two in the paper all the time- I keep all the articles."

He raised his eyebrows, unimpressed. "It's not worth your time, it's all gossip. If you're interested, you should take a look at my blog." He pointed out.

The blonde chuckled. "Oh, I do. I used to read your friend John's blog too."

At the mention of his friend, the consulting detective's jaw tightened, making Kim's chuckles turn into horribly-pitched laughter.

"Ooh, did I hit a nerve?" She cooed, "You're not so cold after all. Your little army doctor melted that icy heart of yours, didn't he?"

"Oh, don't talk about us, Kim. You know all about us anyway, _don't you_?" Victoria relieved Sherlock from risking losing his composure, mimicking the woman's questioning, "We came here because we're curious about you. It took us a long time to figure you out, you know. Who would have expected you to be working for the government?"

She grinned, oblivous to the intentional and fake flattery. "I know, isn't it fantastic? I one-upped the two smartest people on the planet for a while and got rid of those horrible criminals. That's got to be impressive." She said surely.

"But who are you trying to impress, Kim? We made a mistake- we thought you were a man, trying to impress the woman you love. Please explain this to us." Sherlock begged falsely.

They had figured her out the moment she had opened her mouth. It was so obvious, looking at her. The will to impress, her obesity- caused by emotional childhood issues- the large, gold wedding band dangling on a chain with a cross around her neck, clearly too old to be a husband's and close to her heart- it all added up. She was trying to impress her overly religious father.

Their curiousity had been settled and disappointed, hopes of an intelligence like theirs, someone to intrigue and challenge them, they were only stalling until Scotland Yard made an appearance, and judging by the lack of traffic sounds on the busy street, they had blocked off the road and were going to come in in any minute. you

"Have you ever thought about just ending it, Kim?" Victoria asked suddenly, "Clearly no one loves you, you're not desirable due to your obsession with your father and the effects of your emotional eating, there's nothing keeping you here."

Kim gasped. "My father loves me! I freed the world of sinners!" She protested.

"With which you became a sinner yourself. Your father will never forgive you. The boy you killed- Trevor- he was innocent. Not only did you commit murder, but it wasn't righteous, either. And then, you took Thomas, another innocent." Sherlock intently watched Victoria manipulate Kim. Her voice became soft, leaking into every corner of the room but the effects of her words crashed into Kim visibly.

Her eyes started watering. "I- I had to. I had to get your attention, I needed you to find me. I thought I would have to leave you another clue." She sobbed into her hands, her body collapsing into itself.

A wicked smile formed on female detective's lips. "We found you. And now you're going to a nice prison for the rest of your life, and you'll be in the news for your father to see. And I assure you, he won't be proud of you then," She paused, "He'll be disgusted."

The blonde's cries just got louder. "No! God is supposed to protect me, I can't go to prison! I did the right thing, I don't deserve to be punished!"

"Well, there would be a way out. I mean, you could just end it yourself. You won't go to prison. Let God be your jury." She encouraged softly.

Kim looked up to Victoria slowly before looking to the knife she had used to hurt Thomas. She crawled over to it, weighing it in her hands. She closed her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, father." She muttered before pushing the knife deeply into her chest, falling limp not a second later.

Victoria didn't spare her another look as Lestrade and his team burst into the room, simply rolling her eyes.

"You're late." She said accusingly, but Sherlock could see the pretence. She had manipulated someone into killing themselves. He could see the disgust at herself, the way her hands shook slightly as she walked over to Thomas, who looked disgusted himself.

It was gone a second later, her vulnerability replaced by her typical composure and she once again became unreadable to the consulting detective. She ignored Thomas' expression as she untied him and held him down by his shoulders before he could get up.

"This is why you were supposed to keep away from me, you understand?" She hissed, "And I expect you to oblige this time."

He nodded mutely, skillfully avoiding her eyes before being escorted by the medical team that had made their way in.


	5. In Which Walls Fall

05 The Pied Piper

Sherlock was stuck.

Not too unlike how he had been before he'd met Victoria.

He was still grieving over John, the fact that 221B Baker Street was no longer at least half-kept, that his experiments were in the fridge next to the vegetables, was one of the only ones that were too gruesome for the great mind of Sherlock Holmes. John's belongings were already blanketed by a thick layer of dust, but he couldn't bring himself to remove them or at least move them out of sight, and Mrs Hudson, his ever-helpful landlady, was nowhere to be seen in 221B. She hadn't taken Sherlock's return lightly.

But, unlike before, there was another silly little human emotion tearing at his thick, cemented walls. Worry.

It had been a week since they had caught Kim Lawrence, since Victoria had manipulated the murderer to kill herself, and he knew she wasn't alright. He may not have been very good at reading her- he was in much too deep for that- but he knew from experience the terrors their gifts were. They were not gifts at all, rather burdens.

He had thought about calling her, but despite admitting to emotion, he was not ready to give up and let down his meticulously kept walls. He wouldn't become any weaker than he was before.

So, there he was, in his bathrobe in the middle of the day, lying flat on his couch and attempting to enter his mind palace, the one place he thought he could be at peace. It seemed even his mind was rebelling against him, not just his heart. He hadn't taken any of the cases he had been offered, he had been wallowing in his self-pity. Even his beloved violin was layered with a sheen of dust.

His phone ringing snapped him out of his reverie, his desperate attempts to escape reality, and he jumped up to fetch and answer it.

He looked at the caller ID, disappointment etched in his features, but accepted the call nonetheless. "What is it, Lestrade?" He greeted plainly.

"You haven't been taking any cases." The detective inspector stated, ignoring the question. There was a rustling in the background, he must have been rummaging through the many files on his desk.

"Yes, thank you for that sharp observation. Was there anything else you wanted to tell me about my life?" Sherlock inquired sarcastically, but again, he was ignored.

"Ah, well, never mind. I need you to go check up on Victoria." Lestrade informed him.

He tried to push back the excitement that bubbled up in his chest. "Why?" He asked bluntly.

"Oh, just do it, Sherlock-" Something was knocked over- presumably the coffee that always stood much too dangerously on his desk, Sherlock deduced, "I have to go, please do me and yourself a favour."

The line went dead

Sherlock contemplated for merely a second before jumping up to get dressed.

He stood in front of Victoria's townhouse not an hour later, ringing the doorbell.

The plain door opened to reveal the tall brunette. Her hair was tied up and she was dressed in the same bathrobe she was in when he had first visited her, and her facial expression gave away little of her thoughts.

"Sherlock." She greeted evenly, silently asking his reason for being there. Not because she didn't know, but because she didn't know for which reason- for himself of the detective inspector who seemed to be constantly on her heels.

"Lestrade," He lied, but they both knew it was the other.

She leant against the doorframe. "It isn't me Lestrade sent you here for." She commented, it was clear that he wanted to help Sherlock out of the slump he gotten himself into.

Sherlock sighed. "Obviously. So you'll have to excuse my domesticity when I ask you how you're doing, I... need to know." He admitted, and the self-proclaimed sociopaths both saw him crashing and burning, his walls crumbling to the ground messily and painfully.

He was afraid that Victoria would turn and run from someone who _felt_, someone so human and boring after all, but when he looked at her, he saw the trace of a smile on her face.

"I'll be alright, Sherlock." She promised, and he thought he could sense the meaning behind those words.

_You'll be alright. _We'll_ be alright._

"Kim Lawrence killed a child. There was a high chance she would have been murdered in prison anyway." Sherlock noted.

_Why did you make Kim kill herself?_

"You would have done the same for John, or anyone else you care about." Victoria countered, raising an eyebrow.

_She hurt one of the few people I care about. She deserved it._

He nodded, moving on to his next question. "You told him to keep away from you. Why?"

She smiled slightly, a saddened look coming over her face. "He's nearly died for me once already. He's infatuated, reckless. He isn't helpful when he can't think straight."

_I can't let him die for me, I can't lose him._

"I understand." He murmured.

_John died for me. Because of me._

"But he won't be thinking about me much longer. He's received an offer to do his master's degree in Los Angeles." She informed Sherlock lightly, her smirk letting him know that she had everything to do with it.

_I scared him off, I'm alone now. I don't want to be alone._

He nodded in aprovement. "And how did you manage that?" He asked curiously.

_Let me help you. Invite me in._

"How about I tell you over a cup of tea?" Victoria offered, smiling.

_Come in. Stay with me, please. I want to help you too._

"I don't really want the tea, but yes, I'll come in." He accepted, taking off his coat as he followed the woman who had taken down his walls in a matter of weeks into her cold home.

_Yes, I'll stay with you. We'll try. _

AN: Aw, we've done it! That's a wrap for The Pied Piper.

This was not at all how I envisioned the ending, but it just kind of happened and I'm quite happy with it. I hope everything was understandable. Victoria and Sherlock may be back, Victoria I want to send to Quantico (not sure if that's happening yet), and Sherlock... oh, I have a lot of things planned for Sherlock and Victoria. I mean, I have this great plan. Things I will say:

- There is still the mystery of John's death... what drove him to kill himself?

- If Sherlock can fake his death, don't you wonder if Moriarty can too?

- Irene Adler is still alive. I won't even put a question in this one.

- Sherlock's walls are down, and Victoria clearly isn't as sociopathic as she seems... what's in store for two people who see the world completely differently, who possibly can't admit to love? What will become of them?

Thank you so much to all my readers, I reall appreciate you. I've loved writing this story, even if it's been a long time coming and I hope you will return for more when I figure out what I'm doing next! Love you people xx


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